Wine Red Tedium
by Devin Trinidad
Summary: There's a young girl at the bar tugging on his arm like there's no tomorrow. Oh joy. (Pre-Series)


She was an annoying little thing.

Cute, benign, and fragile.

Like a wilting flame basking in strength and radiance.

She was always staring wide eyed and curious while a bunch of heathens were always beating up random things just for the sake of fun. Honestly, if it weren't for the fact that he was there because his best friend just happened to like hanging around with such uncouth riffraff—no, you don't have to pardon his language here—Fushimi Saruhiko would have left a long time ago. As it were, he just sat at the bar looking distantly into space.

Well, he would have been distantly staring into space, except the little girl kept tugging on his arm.

It was far more accurate to say that in this situation, he was tiredly scowling into space.

The tugs, weak and slightly irritating at best, became more hurried and insistent. The brat, Saruhiko assumed, probably needed to get on the bar stool or some such.

It wasn't his problem.

Ahh…she's still tugging on his sleeve. It was quite a miracle that she was still tugging on him to get his attention. Most fools would have ventured away after the first fifteen or so tries—not like most of the idiots he was forced to hang around with would try to force themselves on him. He had to commend the little girl for both her audacity and patience.

Joke's on her, though. He was currently living with the most tenacious and annoying person ever. Saruhiko knew what it was like to be endlessly hounded for hours at a time because of something stupid.

He would not bow down to the likes of a little girl.

And…yup, she's still tugging.

With a bored expression, Saruhiko leaned forward on the bar's counter as his thoughts continued to idle in his brain like a stalling car in the middle of a busy intersection. Useless thoughts such as today's dinner preparations dredged their way through his brain. He even gave a passing thought to whether the little girl's incessant tugging would accidentally cause one of his knives to fall out.

Or worse, stab one of them.

That was a safety hazard, right?

And safety hazards were meant to be kept away from children, right?

Surely the girl still qualified as a bona fide child—even if she was a Strain with an astounding ability for clairvoyance and the like. ( _He doesn't actually know what she does…something to do with marbles? He's still new at this_ ).

Being raised by the likes of his father—let's not think about him too much, okay?—he doesn't know what really classifies as a "safety hazard" or how to keep small children safe. But surely, it all just comes down to common sense and the luck of a draw?

More tugging.

Would he be considered heartless if he were to let her continue this fruitless effort of…whatever she was doing? Saruhiko has made it this far without even breaking eye contact with the deep abyss which was the wall in front of him.. He's not going to allow this child to take his eyes away from it…

Ahh…she stopped?

That's right. The tugging has stopped and once more it's all silent and broody.

Strange.

He doesn't feel anything.

No victory.

No sense of smugness.

Same old, same old.

( _Fushimi Saruhiko refuses to think past those implications and decides to stare at a small chink in the wall_ ).

Suddenly, his ears are assaulted with the sound of something wooden being unceremoniously dragged and chafed on more wood. While the sound itself was a benign threat, Saruhiko felt…

Well…

He could feel the wrath of a small child's eyes bearing down on him from below his waist. ( _That sentence was a paradox and a heachache within itself_ ). The little brat couldn't have been more than a third of his lanky body, but he felt like she could easily best him in a fight.

It was a scary thought.

With a knowing sigh, Saruhiko finally— _finally_ —tore his bored gaze away from the wall and at the little girl. She didn't look particularly emotional at that moment, but he was never good at emotions. Her arms were raised up in a gesture that screamed "carry me" and her eyes alone spoke volumes of the irritation that Saruhiko would normally voice when the others were present.

Was she chastising him for ignoring her?

Good luck with that, little girl. Saruhiko doesn't give a whit about what you think.

Not at all.

Nope.

Ugh, were her eyes always this imploring? If it weren't for his pride, he would have given in and hugged her.

But no.

He shook his head at her and returned to the monotony of staring at the wall.

If he could handle her incessantly tugging on his sleeves, he could take the power of her stare.

Umm…

Is she still—?

She is!

He could still take the stare, right?

He definitely could.

That's a load of crap and you know it, Saruhiko.

He breathed out loudly, clicked his tongue a few times, and looked down at the little girl.

Still there.

Still looking up at him with a cute pout.

She doesn't know the term "give up" now does she?

Woodenly, he moves away from his bar stool and kneels down to her level. For a moment, their eyes are level and they share a silent conversation that Saruhiko isn't sure he completely understands before he grasps her under her armpits and plops her unceremoniously onto a nearby barstool.

Without even realizing it, he puts her in the stool next to his.

If he's irritated at this slight change in events and at his thoughtless behavior, he doesn't show it.

Instead, he plays it off and forces himself to sit back down and view the wall.

Again.

What a sad life, Saruhiko thinks to himself.

"Thank you, Saruhiko."

Startled, Saruhiko almost falls completely out of his chosen barstool. It's only through years of dodging random objects and the constant fear of _him_ that has Saruhiko saving face. Regardless, he knows that she doesn't mean it, but a part of him feels like there should have been something malicious here. Something to detract from the small tint of gratitude coloring her voice.

There should be something—something awful, but there isn't.

And Saruhiko is feeling so confused and when he's feeling confused, he gets angry and defensive but he's looking at her in shock because she just spoke to him and—!

He breathes exasperatedly to himself because he knows that he can never truly be angry with her. Stupid, stupid, stupi—

"You're welcome, Anna."

Life is dull and hard, like a balancing act atop a rickety bar stool, but he'll be damned if he doesn't respond in some civil manner to this little girl.

( _It's not like anyone else has treated him the same_ ).


End file.
